


Drift

by Saucery



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Apocalypse, Crossover, Drama, Family, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Machines, Mind Meld, Monsters, Partnership, Science Fiction, Teamwork, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek doesn't want another co-pilot. Fate has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drift

**Author's Note:**

> Usually, Jaegars have two-word names, but in my story I've got some that are limited to one word.

* * *

 

A Drift never ends. Not really. Once you’ve been in someone’s mind and shared your own with them, there’s always a strange doubleness of memory, hindsight multiplying itself by two, even long after disconnection.

It’s been seven years since Derek was disconnected from his sister, Laura. Since he felt-saw-heard her death. And still, sparks of her linger in his mind - sometimes soft and summer-bright, filled with childhood memories, and sometimes sharp as a lancing pain. He remembers her version of his sixth birthday party - pranks included - as well as her horror when the Kaiju Devilstar killed their parents. He remembers the moment when she was ripped out of the conn-pod, the single, shattering instant in which she realized she was going to die; he remembers how afraid she was, and how brave, and how her last thought was a prayer that he’d make it out alive.

He had made it out alive - for certain definitions of ‘alive’, anyway. In the past seven years, he’s buried himself in construction work, in simple, brainless labor, after retiring from the Jaegar program altogether.

The Kaiju have come and gone, most of them killed with increasing ease by the Jaeger pilots that remain - and if the frequency of attacks seems to be rising, it’s none of Derek’s business. Not anymore.

At least, he  _thinks_  it isn’t his business, but one day, as he steps out of the building site he’s been working at for the last couple weeks, he sees a familiar man in military uniform.

"Marshall Stilinski," Derek says, wiping at his brow. "I don’t suppose you’re here to talk about the old days."

”Derek Hale,” says the marshall, giving Derek a careful once-over. “You look well.”

"Appearances can be deceiving." Derek sinks his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He just wants to go home and drink himself to sleep. It’s the end of his shift; his muscles are aching. "And whatever you’re going to say, the answer is no."

"It won’t be." A trace of command enters the marshall’s tone. "Not after you’ve heard the latest news from the PPDC."

"The Pan Pacific Defense Corps has nothing to do with me."

"You must’ve noticed that the Kaiju have been striking more and more often," Stilinski continues, as though Derek hadn’t said anything. "The truth - the classified truth - is that our scientists have predicted an upsurge in Kaiju activity in the coming months, leading up to as many as two or three Kaiju attacking at once."

Derek feels a shiver of foreboding. He ignores it. “That still hasn’t got anything to do with me,” he says, “especially since it’s ‘classified’. If it’s so classified, why the hell are you even telling me?”

"Because at current capacity, we simply won’t have enough Jaegers to fend off that kind of mass invasion. We need all hands on deck - and that includes you. You’ve proven yourself to be Drift-compatible in the past; you’re probably still Drift-compatible today. All you need is to find a new partner."

"I don’t want a new partner. I felt my sister die, damn it; I can’t go through that again. I’m sorry, Marshall. I’m not interested."

"Will you be interested when more people start to die?" Stilinski challenged. "When entire cities are wiped out? You can’t run from your duty, son. Your sister wouldn’t have wanted you to."

Derek clenches his teeth. “Don’t pretend to know what my sister would or wouldn’t have wanted.”

"I don’t have to pretend," the marshall says, calmly. "I know. I trained her, same as you. I know you both. And you’re not the only one who’s ever lost a co-pilot. Are you?"

Derek hunches his shoulders and looks away. It’s true; the marshall was a pilot once, too, of one of the very first Jaegars, with his wife as his partner. He’d lost her mid-skirmish, much as Derek had lost Laura. Lines of grief still mark Stilinski’s face.

"We’ve all lost someone to the Kaiju. It doesn’t excuse you from returning to service. Not when humanity still needs you.”

"It hasn’t needed me so far."

"It does, now. Think about it. You can help destroy the creatures who took your sister from you, or you can spend the rest of your life wallowing in your own self-pity."

Derek’s hackles rise. “It’s not  _self-pity_  - ”

"Isn’t it?" Stilinski meets Derek’s eyes. "There’ll be a car waiting outside your apartment tomorrow morning. Make sure you’re packed."

And with that said, the marshall turns around and gets into his own vehicle, a PPDC van with tinted windows. It drives off down the street, among whispers from the surrounding civilians.

Derek stands there and stares after the van, his heart a raw and ugly thing, pounding within him like a war-drum.

 

*

By the time the car arrives the next morning, Derek’s sitting on the stairs outside his apartment building, his duffel bag by his side. He doesn’t own much; construction work doesn’t exactly pay enough for that.

Not that he’s going to be doing construction work any longer.

A fresh-faced kid who introduces himself as Greenberg is the driver, and it’ll be a miracle if he even gets them to the base intact, given the awestruck glances he keeps sneaking at Derek instead of focusing on the goddamn road.

"You’re a hero, sir," Greenberg gushes. "You saved my family when you and your sister defeated Ragnarok. We were there when - ”

"Shut. Up," says Derek, succinctly, and Greenberg almost swallows his tongue.

"S-sorry, sir. I’ll, um. Be quiet, then."

The rest of the drive is blessedly silent. Derek doesn’t want to think about what he’s doing, or what he’s going back to. It’s just what he has to do, that’s all. The marshall was right; Derek can’t run away anymore, but that doesn’t mean he has to  _like_  it.

Whoever his new partner is had better be okay with that.

 

*

The Shatterdome is exactly as he remembers it, only more crowded. Science staff and maintenance crews and pilots mill back and forth, all on the way to laboratories or hangars or training rooms, and Derek feels uncomfortably idle without a designated task to perform.

Marshall Stilinski soon appears, though, making a bee-line straight for Derek, and there’s a boy with the marshall, lanky and vaguely familiar. Derek tries to place him, and suddenly recalls seeing that same face on a much smaller child, all those years ago, the sight of someone so young on-base too incongruous to forget.

It’s the marshall’s son, Stiles. He must be, what - seventeen, now? Eighteen? No older than that. Derek dismisses him as being of any importance, and focuses solely on the marshall.

"I’m here," Derek says, without preamble.

Stilinski smiles. “So you are. Good to have you with us again.”

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that. It’s been a long time since I did any martial arts. I won’t be up to speed."

"Stiles will show you to the central training room, to get you started." Stilinski claps a hand on his son’s shoulder. "But first, he’ll get you settled in your quarters. You have any questions, ask him. I’ll be on the command deck if you need me."

"Thanks," says Derek.

With a final nod, the marshall departs.

Derek looks at Stiles, who’s studying him with clear, narrowed eyes. They’re intelligent, those eyes, and cautiously curious.

"So, you’re Derek Hale," Stiles says. "It’s been ages since I saw you around."

Derek grunts. “I’m in no mood to make conversation, kid. Just show me to my room.”

"I’m not a  _kid_ ,” Stiles bristles, and Derek hoists his duffel higher on his shoulder.

"And I don’t give a shit."

"Wow, you’re a real charmer, huh?"

"My room?"

Stiles huffs and jerks a thumb to the left, and then leads Derek down a corridor with metal doors before reaching into his military-issue sweatpants for a key-card, swiping it through one of the door’s locks. The door - numbered 32 - swings open, revealing a narrow room with two bunk-beds on top of each other, as well as a cupboard and a desk.

"Nothing changes around here, does it?" Derek murmurs to himself. He and Laura had lived in just such a room, and the thought of it  _hurts_ , so he pushes it aside.

"Nope, it definitely doesn’t," Stiles says, cheerfully, like he wasn’t angry with Derek just a few minutes ago. "You’ll be in here with your partner, once you get one."

"I know that."

"I bet you do. I’m just doing my level best to be annoying. Is it working, yet?"

It’s working, all right. Best to pretend the kid isn’t even there.

Derek throws his duffel onto the lower bed and unzips it, pulling out a tank-top, because he can’t go training dressed the way he is. He shrugs off his jacket and his shirt and flings them onto the mattress, and hears something clatter behind him.

He turns to see Stiles bending to pick up the swipe-card.

"I, uh. May have dropped that," Stiles coughs, straightening up. "Pure coincidence. Nothing to do with your sudden onset of semi-nudity. Carry on."

Stiles’s face is red and his gaze is averted, and Derek almost rolls his eyes; he has no patience for adolescent hormones.

He slides his tank-top on and gestures at the door.

"Right," Stiles mutters, handing over the swipe-card, his fingers brushing Derek’s. He snatches them back quickly, as if burned. "The training room. Follow me."

 

*

They pass the Kwoon Combat Room, and Derek notes that the light above the closed entrance is red.

Stiles answers Derek’s unspoken question. ”The Combat Room is booked, right now. Gemini are using it.”

"Gemini?"

"They’re a pair of twins. Ethan and Aiden. They Drift together." Stiles shrugs. "It’s too early for you to use it, anyway. Get some practice in, use the Jaegar simulator, and when you feel ready for a trial, we’ll arrange a slot for you in the Combat Room. The unmatched Rangers will spar with you, and you can pick out your partner for the Drift."

"Are you a Ranger, too?" Derek doesn’t know why he asks that; it’s not like he cares.

"Yeah. Just graduated."

Derek’s mouth seems to have a life of its own, because it asks yet another question. “What was your score?”

Stiles raises his chin, as if daring Derek to contradict him. “Fifty-one drops and fifty-one kills.”

That can’t be. That’s two kills higher than Derek’s own top score, back in the day. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

"And what makes you think I care what you believe?"

So saying, Stiles deposits him at an empty training room, and leaves.

Derek watches him go, then steps into the room and starts doing his  _katas_. His body adjusts to the movements slowly, and he pushes himself as far as he can go, until sweat’s dampening his tank-top and his breath is sawing in and out of his lungs.

He doesn’t even bother trying a Jaegar simulator, that day. No way is he going to get a lower score than a  _kid_.

 

* * *

 


End file.
